


All the Way to Georgia Now

by meeks00



Series: South-Bound series [2]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-02
Updated: 2010-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:05:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meeks00/pseuds/meeks00
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Ray had to be honest, he’d say he’s not really a foreplay type of guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Way to Georgia Now

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Marshall Tucker Band’s “Can’t You See.”

If Ray had to be honest, he’d say he’s not really a foreplay type of guy. Honestly, toward the end there he was literally dry-humping the back of Walt’s head after the whole I-refuse-to-speak-because-I'm-broken at the roadblock thing.

And that wasn’t just because it creeped him the fuck out that Walt kept looking into space and hadn’t spoken for so long, even to tell Ray to fuck off.

But then Walt did speak, and he did tell Ray to fuck off. Or, more precisely, to “leave (him) the fuck alone.” Uncalled for, right? All Ray had tried to do was cheer the guy up out of thinking he fucked up at the roadblock. All he’d tried to do was innocently enjoy his strawberry milkshake MRE and cure his very fucking serious case of blue balls.

So Ray got pushed away for his trouble, but it turned out that Walt didn’t really need anything so flamboyantly _gay_ to get it. All it took was eating Brad’s Hebrew-god-send of Chef Boyardee ravioli like a Special Olympics baby, and Walt melted like butter.

Walt denies it of course, but Ray figures that goes with the territory of going gay for somebody. A guy can’t really admit to things like that. Especially with “don’t ask, don’t tell” and all.

“It’s not that I’m _not_ admitting I’m gay, Ray,” Walt says suddenly, pushing up onto his elbows in the grass.

“What?” Ray turns to him, takes in Walt’s slightly rucked up T-shirt with interest. “I didn’t say anything.”

They’re sitting slightly away from where the others are hashing out their post-OIF frustrations in a game of pick-up football, lying out in the sun in the grass without their fatigues and MOPP suits.

Ray left the game early with aching ribs and feeling kind of mentally fucked up despite possibly being seriously physically fucked up thanks to Fruity Rudy’s martial arts demonstration, and he’d had Colbert trailing after him like a worried mother hen.

He thought he’d shaken Brad off, but then Walt came around with a raised brow and those hands and that tongue, and, well, that was all right.

Apparently Brad does occasionally know what Ray needs. Brad did, after all, make sure Ray got what he needed — Walt’s _tongue_ , yeah — even after Ray told him to go fuck himself, because OIF was over, which meant Brad was no longer TL, so fucking fuck off already. Go figure.

Besides, Brad probably didn’t have time to chase Ray when he’d spent the entirety of his time during OIF chasing after the LT.

“You always say everything you’re thinking,” Walt says, the corner of his lip curling up in a half grin. He’s looking at Ray — Ray can feel it — but right now Ray is having a bit of trouble looking away from the six-pack.

He draws his eyes away from the slightly tanned, exposed stomach and tries to ignore the fact that Walt has been keeping his six-pack a secret. That isn’t really fair, but now that Ray knows about it, he decides he’s going to keep it.

Personally, he would be — what was the word Brad used? — magnanimous and share a six-pack with anyone who wanted a piece. That philosophy, of course, is applicable to both abs and beer. Though, if used in relation to beer, he’d actually only be willing to share a 24-pack, because a six-pack is next to nothing.

“Anyway, I don’t even think I _am_ gay,” Walt goes on, voice contemplative.

“Uh…not to get all technical about this shit, but I have a dick, and you have a dick, ergo —” Ray trails off, because honestly, there are just some things that a guy shouldn’t have to explain to someone he’s fucking. But then again, he thinks: “If you need me to demonstrate how this is, in fact, gay-ness, I’d be happy to demonstrate. Although this demonstration, I feel I should warn you, involves my dick, and your —”

“Gay-ness is not a word, you illiterate hick. And I’m just sayin’,” Walt cuts in easily, slanting his eyes at Ray in that way he has that means he’s laughing on the inside and trying not to show it.

Ray also notices that the six-pack is flexing a bit because of all that repressed laughter. He likes to think it’s his humor that has made Walt’s six-pack so defined.

“If you’re not gay, then how would you define it?” Ray asks, rolling over onto his stomach beside Walt. He reaches out a hand to trail his forefinger on that line of exposed skin, lets the tip of it rest in the juts of the six-pack’s muscles. He thinks it likes him.

“I—” Walt licks his lips and then deliberately seems to look away from that finger. His stomach is flexing even harder now, though, and Ray grins as Walt looks past him, as if he can see past the tall blades of grass to where the other guys are still at their football game.

“I’d say you’re confused,” Ray says.

“Well, no.” Walt turns to look back at him, lets one leg fall open slightly open as he shifts a bit under the pressure of Ray’s finger.

Ray keeps drawing designs on Walt’s stomach, but he’s not looking at abs anymore. Huh. It looks like other parts of Walt’s body like him. Not that Ray didn’t know that already.

“I don’t think this is confusing or anything,” Walt says. And Ray thinks with a smirk that Walt maybe sounds a bit out of breath. “I just meant — I really doubt it was your eating habits that made me want you.”

“OK,” Ray says, taking that as a sign and rolling over again to sit up. He leans over and pushes Walt’s shirt up with one hand, slides his palm up the man’s chest and feels it slightly slick with sweat from the glare of the mid-day sun. “This is starting to sound like some sort of confession. You had me at ‘hello,’ Hasser. Now let’s fuck already.”

Walt laughs even as he pushes up onto one hand and grasps Ray’s wrist with the other as Ray uses his other hand to reach below the waistband of Walt’s pants.

“Hey!” Ray protests. “Look, you have questions about your sexuality. All I’m tryin’ to do is help you out here! Practical demonstrations! Anatomy lessons! General fuckery!”

“Jesus, Person,” Walt says, still laughing as he pulls Ray’s hand away from his pants. He knocks away the other hand that’s still trying to lift his shirt off, and Ray pulls away with a frustrated sigh.

“What?” Ray asks, frowning at him. He’s not hurt at being rejected. Not at all.

“Look,” Walt says, doing that thing with his mouth that means he’s trying to hide another laugh.

Ray can’t help but shoot him a shit-eating grin. “I _was_ trying to get a better look, before you interrupted me.”

“No — I mean. Can you stop for a second?”

Ray sits up, rolls his eyes, stares at Walt with what he hopes is a really pissed off expression. If he’d known Walt was such a tease, he wouldn’t have ever bothered with the poking fun and the milkshake and the dry-humping and the ravioli-eating. Except that’s a lie — he totally would have anyway.

“Look — we can do this slow too,” Walt says.

After a couple weeks now of doing anything _but_ going slow — on the other side of berms on night watch, behind the humvee during a free moment, in dark corners of the cigarette factory — Ray’s kind of confused about what the fuck Walt means.

“I mean, like this,” Walt says, scooting closer. Ray watches Walt’s eyelashes brush against his cheekbones as the man leans forward, and he lets his own eyes fall closed to accept the kiss for what it is. No tongue, just soft lips and warm breath.

“OK,” Ray says tentatively, pulling back slightly so he can find a more comfortable position. Walt presses closer, there are those lips again, and then he’s nudging Ray onto his back and crawling on top.

“Slow,” Walt says, licking at Ray’s mouth slowly.

Ray lies all the way back, feels Walt’s weight on him hot and comfortable all along his body, and even though Ray thinks he’s harder than he’s ever been in his life, yeah, this is not so bad.

“Like this, see?” Walt says, breathing against Ray’s mouth. Ray can feel the smile on the other man’s lips even though he can’t see it because his own eyes are closed.

“Yeah,” Ray replies. “Yeah, sure.” He reaches out and pulls Walt closer, wants lips and tongue and body against body again. Feels Walt’s laugh against his own chest.

Feels relaxed.

Ray lets his head thud against the dirt, lets Walt’s lips follow his own down, lets his eyes flutter closed as Walt turns his attention to his neck. Ray ‘humm’s in the quiet rustle of the grass and distant voices of the other men, relaxes in the warmth, forces down his more ticklish sensibilities as Walt’s hands trail up his sides.

Sure, Ray thinks. This is not so bad. Even if it is like a middle school make out session.

And then, Walt’s — there’s no other word for it, Jesus fucking _Christ_ — _shimmying_ down Ray’s body, tugging lightly on the waistband of Ray’s pants, looking up past his lashes at Ray with a fucking hot hot hot devious expression.

“And _then_ we can go fast,” Walt says, his breath hot against Ray’s suddenly exposed cock.

Ray pushes onto his elbows to see — _feel_ — Walt taking him into his mouth, lips curving around Ray’s cock in a grin under those cornflower blue eyes.

Yeah, Ray thinks, letting himself fall onto his back again with a stifled moan, curling his hand around the back of Walt’s head, letting his fingertips brush against the buzzed hair. Yeah, Ray thinks again. He’s never really been a foreplay kind of guy. Just...who’d have thought Walt wasn’t either?

 

**


End file.
